


First His Eden Did Adorn

by martialartist816



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Canon Compliant, First Time, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, One Shot, Smut, historical setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-20 21:35:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20682284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/martialartist816/pseuds/martialartist816
Summary: Pannonia470 CE





	First His Eden Did Adorn

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "[Eden](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45413/eden-56d225062cb08)" by Thomas Traherne.
> 
> I did like 0.02 seconds of reseach for this. Please don't come at me for historical inaccuracies lmao.

Crowley did love a challenge every now and then. For the last few centuries, his account of demonic temptations was limited to simple ear whisperings—the phrase they _ down there _ used to define acts of evil a human can be persuaded into doing after just a few words from a silver-tongued devil nudging them in the right direction. Yes, you should steal that man’s parcel. It’s his own fault for leaving it unattended like that. Yes, you should murder that perverted Ceasar for thinking he was the be-all, end-all of the Empire. Romans were easy to convince to be bad. Their egos and tendency toward violence and indulgence made work easy in the budding new millennium. They hardly needed demonic interference at all. Yes, the Roman Empire was flourishing indeed.

Which is why Crowely was in Pannonia, plotting its demise.

He would have loved to take credit for coming up with the idea, but this one he was just following orders from head office. Make Rome fall, so that this region of the continent gets swept into the dark, they told him. Crowley wondered how that would go. Knowing the humans as well as he did, he figured they’d call that new era something clever like the Dark Ages. Ugh, that would be positively medieval.

So this temptation was a bigger bite than Crowley was used to. The higher-ups had pointed him in the direction of a certain statesman, a gothic brute by the name of Odoacer. He would be the man to cripple Rome at its knees, and Crowley would be the demon to get him there.

It would require time—years of it—and Crowley would have to keep up the same role for the entirety of it if he wanted Odoacer to trust the seeds Crowley would be planting in his head. Good thing he had an affinity for theatrics. Crowley got himself secured in a position as the statesman's war counsel. He was rather easy to convince. All Crowley had to do was show up with a few chests of forgein gold and regale the court with a completely facetious tale of how he conquered lands from far away. The very same night, Crowley earned himself a spot at the statesman’s right hand at the table and his very own bedroom in the modest castle tucked away in the rolling hills. Barbarians were so easy to fool.

“If you’re here for the reason I think you’re here, then I’m sorry, but I simply won’t allow you to accomplish it,” Aziraphale told him when they met in the castle corridor.

Oh, right. Aziraphale had showed up in Pannonia on nearly the exact same day as Crowley had, introducing himself to the court. Crowley was getting used to seeing his face when their respective jobs required them both to be in the same place at the same time, for absolutely opposite reasons.

“And if you’re here for the reason I think,” Crowley said, looking Aziraphale pointedly up and down as a gesture to the priest robes he wore, “then I’m sorry, but I don’t think you’ll stand a chance convincing him to join your side.”

Aziraphale went to straighten the heavy cloak draped over his shoulders, a pout on his face as if Crowley had insulted his attire with just a glance. “What makes you so sure?”

“I mean, look around you.” Crowley gestured around the hallway, where paintings of men standing over other dead men adorned the walls, and a taxidermied bear stood at eight feet high. Hell, even the chandeliers were made of chains and rusted iron. “These people don’t care for religion, they won’t listen to a priest. They want money and power, both things I’m promising to Odoacer if he pays the Roman Emperor a little visit.”

“And being his little war advisor, you think you’re his favorite already, do you?” Aziraphale’s chin was turned up in defence. It was kind of endearing.

“I am, actually.”

“Well,” Aziraphale said with a sort of finality, hands smoothing over the front of his robes. “I’m here to convince Flavius he doesn’t need to end the most advanced civilization this world has ever seen just to attain things as fleeting as wealth and notoriety.”

“Flavius?” Crowley grimaced. When did the first name basis come in?

“Besides, I can’t let you destroy Rome.”

“Why not?”

Aziraphale huffed in frustration. “I’d miss it too much. It truly is a wonderful culture, with their plays and poems. Oh, and the oysters. I’m afraid I’ll never taste anything as divine again for the rest of my existence.”

“You could write your own poems,” Crowley tried, bored.

“It’s never the same,” Aziraphale sighed. “I’m still not over missing the poetry of the Greek Empire. Sappho, remember her? She was a delightful little sprite.”

“Look, angel. I’m not going to change my mind just because you’re feeling nostalgic. The Romans are a rowdy bunch, and frankly I’m surprised you’re not excited for my lot to be taking them off your hands for you.”

Aziraphale deflated, a small smile coming up to his mouth. “Yes, well, I suppose my lot just wants to claim the culture that tokenified Catholicism and all that.” The angel’s gaze drifted far off somewhere, but then he returned his eyes to Crowley’s. “Shall we say, let the best man win?”

A grin split on Crowley’s face. “Shake on it.”

He did love a challenge.

* * *

They held regular progress meetings with each other when they weren’t busy mapping out attacks or trying to get Odoacer to pray for something other than blood or meat. Before long, they had a routine and a rendezvous established. They’d meet in the caste courtyard and walk together out on the grassy grounds, strolling through gardens as they talked because walls had ears.

“It was terrible today, Crowley,” Aziraphale recounted, hands folded behind him as they meandered between some trees. “You should have seen it. I tried telling Flavius that confession was meant for him to be repentant. He told me all his sins, and when I asked if he regretted committing them, he said ‘Why would I? Look how far sinning has gotten me.’”

Crowley fought a smile. “At least you’ve got the confession part down. It’s just the repenting that he’s missing now.”

“I know you find this all very amusing.”

“A bit, yeah.”

“But it’s more difficult when he was already yours before we even got here.”

“Giving up so soon?”

“Please, it’s been only a few months.” Aziraphale stopped under a tree bearing soft yellow fruit. His face and mood brightened up at the sight, and he reached up to pluck something plump from its branch. “Look, it’s already apricot season.”

Crowley watched as Aziraphale took the first bite of the fruit. The soft flesh parted easily around his teeth, and that was a good enough sign that it was perfectly ripe even before the angel hummed in bliss. He savored it for a long, happy moment, eyes closed. He seemed to remember himself, because he stretched his arm out to offer the rest of the apricot.

“Would you like to try?”

“No, thank you.”

Aziraphale made a face at him like _ you’re missing out_, but continued on taking more bites. Crowley watched, gaze fixed on the angel’s lips and captivated by the way he relished every moment before only the stone was left.

“What does it taste like?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale blinked at him. “Now, Crowley, if you wanted to know, why didn’t you try some for yourself when I offered?” He wore that appalled,_that simply won’t do _ expression and was already reaching up for another fruit for Crowley to try.

“Dunno, just wary, I suppose.” Crowley shrugged noncommittally because, really, he never put more than a moment of thought of trying anything to satisfy his own curiosity about humans. “I’ve actually never had food before.”

“What?” Aziraphale’s voice went up an octave in shock. He gaped at Crowley, his big beautiful eyes even bigger from what was, apparently, the most offensive thing he’s ever heard in his entire existence.

“I’ve never tried human food before.”

It wasn’t unheard of by any stretch of Crowley’s extensive imagination. Demons and angels alike typically didn’t bother because they didn’t need it. Ethereal beings didn’t need food or water, or sleep—though Crowley liked to indulge in that one from time to time—even breathing, bathing, existing in a physical form at all was unnecessary. Aziraphale was the odd man out, so they say, in his love of human food and other customs.

“I refuse to believe it.” Aziraphale had gone from surprised to panicked rather quickly. “But I’ve seen you drinking before. You have wine with Flavius all the time.”

“Well, alcohol, yes, I like alcohol.” One of the humans’ finer creations, even if Jesus Christ did kind of own that one. “But food? Nah, it’s never really peaked my curiosity, you know what I mean?”

“Sorry, I don’t at all.” The angel picked another low-hanging apricot. The tree they stood under was heavy with them. He held it out toward Crowley, seemed to think better of it, quickly cleaned the skin off against his robe, then offered it again, shiny and new. “Here, try this. They’re perfectly ripe, and not a bad start for your first time.”

Crowley eyed the fleshy fruit, like a little sun in the palm of Aziraphale’s hand, and made a disgruntled noise. “Ngh.”

“Oh, come on. It can’t hurt you.”

The look on the angel’s face was the most amusing part of the whole situation. The crease between his brows made it seem like this was life or death, that he needed to give Crowley the apricot before the Almighty smote the two of them on the spot. If it was this important to the angel, hell, Crowley would have tried food a lot sooner.

Crowley folded his arms and looked at the fruit, then looked at Aziraphale, eyebrows raised.

Aziraphale sighed and covered the apricot with his other hand. When he pulled it away a moment later, the fruit was left sliced into perfectly dainty wedges, and the stone was nowhere to be seen. “Come, now, it’s not going to hurt you.”

The corner of Crowley’s lips turned down into a slight frown.

“If you’re going to act like a toddler…” Aziraphale didn’t finish the sentence. He held one wedge between two fingers and brought it up to Crowley’s mouth.

The scent of the fruit hit him first, and he wasn’t so loathe to admit it smelled yummy. The tartness in the air made his mouth water. So, fighting a smirk, he opened his mouth and let the angel feed him. The initial texture of the apricot was something he wasn’t expecting, but coming from never having eaten before, Crowley figured he couldn’t really have been ready for anything. Then the flavor washed over his tongue, and Crowley found himself crewing faster to break up the taste over his mouth even quicker. It was sweet, musky, and tart. Yes, he liked it.

Before he could even swallow the first bite, Aziraphale was looking at him expectantly, a second wedge locked and loaded in his hand for when Crowley would inevitably ask for more.

“Well? Are you a changed man?”

Crowley ran his thumb over his bottom lip, hiding his amusement. “I give it raving reviews. Five out of five stars. My compliments to the chef.”

The relief was palpable on the angel’s face. “Delightful. Oh, I have so many other things I want you to try. I wonder what your favorite will be. Mine for the past few centuries has been figs, you know the kind that grows up in the Greek mountains to the south.”

He kept talking, and they started their walk back to the castle. Aziraphale hand-fed Crowley more bites of apricot, so much so that he began to experience the phenomenon of feeling full. The angel told him about all of his most cherished dishes, and how he would talk to Flavius’ cook to see what kind of treats he could whip up for Crowley. Flavius be damned, Aziraphale had a new purpose for living.

* * *

It took about four and a half thousand years, but Crowley finally started eating like the humans. And with the humans. Before another year in Pannonia had passed, he had begun joining Odoacer for supper at his huge wooden dining table with other lords and statesmen alike. Aziraphale would be there too, in his priest dress, daintily picking at a variety of dishes that were brought to the table. After trying said variety, Crowley learned that he quite liked the different breads and cheeses that were served. They paired nicely with the wine, which would always be his first and his favorite thing to consume.

Crowley and Aziraphale suddenly had something new they could talk about. Conversations shifted from their jobs to exchanging notes on what they thought of dinner the night before—and they did so eagerly, as if this whole time they had been waiting for an excuse to talk about anything other than work and the fact that they were on opposite sides. The angel’s face would light up when they talked about smoked meat and fish, and the constant worry that he was going to lose Odoacer to Hell easily melted away. _Eating _ became not just an act of indulgence, but a social and cultural adhesive, and suddenly Crowley understood more about humans than he ever had before.

He wished there were more of those establishments—_restaurants_, Aziraphale called them—where he and the angel could dine alone. But there were no such places this far out in the country. They shared their dining experience with the other men and women who lived in and near the castle, making Crowley increasingly long for it to be just the two of them.

At one point during that first year of new things and new tastes, Crowley invited Aziraphale to his chambers at night.

“This isn’t one of your demon tricks, is it?” Aziraphale stood rigid as the dead in the doorway to Crowley’s room like he was a vampire needing permission to enter.

“That’s vampires, and I’m pretty sure you have it backwards.” He took the angel by the wrist and hauled him inside, then shut them both in the room with a push against the mighty door. “I just have something for you the humans might get suspicious of if they see.”

At the suggestion of a gift, Aziraphale’s mood noticeably brightened. “For me?”

“Yes, for you. So you can stop being so nervous just now.” Crowley rummaged through his wardrobe and produced a small cloth wrapped around something delicate and fragrant. He tossed the budle to the angel, who used both hands to catch. The long sleeves of his priest robes billowed like ribbons with the motion.

Crowlely leaned against the open door of the wardrobe, arms crossed, as he watched Aziraphale gingerly unwrap the folds of the cloth. The delighted gasp from his mouth made Crowley’s lips twitch.

“Figs?” the angel said cheerily. He looked up from his hands, cupped around the set of Mediterranian fruit, to Crowley’s face. “Where did you get these?”

Crowley gave a one-shoulder shrug and looked off elsewhere. “Had popped down to the southwest to bag a few temptations. Then I saw those and remembered you mentioned how much you liked them.”

What Crowley didn’t mention that he specifically assigned himself the job fully conscious of the geography and what crops grew naturally in the region.

“How very thoughtful of you,” Aziraphale cooed.

“Ugh,” Crowley said.

The angel lifted the fruits to closer to his face and inhaled in bliss, eyes serenely closed. “It’s been so long, I wasn’t sure when I’d have another change to be so blessed by—”

He stopped suddenly, looking at Crowley with serious intent in his gaze.

“What?” Crowley squirmed.

“You should try one.”

Crowley started shaking his head, but the angel was already approaching and picking at the plum-colored skin with his fingernails. “They’re for you. I don’t need to try anything.” He wrapped his hand around Aziraphale’s wrist, which was positioned halfway between them and offering Crowley the first of the ripe pink flesh.

“I insist. You must experience for yourself why they’re one of my favorites.” He wasn’t backing down, and damn that angel and his supernatural strength. Aziraphale bypassed Crowley’s initial protests and brought the fig up to his mouth, reminiscent of that fateful day under the apricot tree that got Crowley hooked on human food in the first place.

It smelled delicious, right there under his nose. He took one more glance at the angel’s shining eyes and knew there was no saying no to him.

“I supposed. Might as well get at least one taste before my man down the hall destroys Rome, and we’re both relocated, eh?”

Aziraphale pouted, urging the fruit forward even more. “Don’t remind me.”

Crowley relinquished his inhibitions and his smirk and parted his lips. The angel fed him the fruit, and Crowley, like with most other things, fell in love at the first taste. It was sweet in a subtle way. Divine, if he was allowed to think such a thing.

And, like with everything else, Aziraphale was eager to hear his thoughts.

“I see why they’re your favorite,” Crowley said, smiling cooly down at Aziraphale.

The angel laughed softly and changed his reach to wipe a few stray seeds from Crowley’s bottom lip with his knuckle. “Say what you want. Nothing will keep me from having these for the rest of existence. Rome or no Rome, I will always come back for them.”

Crowley took the next fig from the bunch and peeled it the same way he saw the angel to do it. This time, it was his turn to offer the fruit, and he held it steady in front of Aziraphale’s lips. “Even if the Almighty has plans for you on the other side of the world?”

Aziraphale met Crowley’s eyes with a meaningful, hesitant look, then opened his mouth to accept the fruit, and he ate right out of the demon’s hand. He pondered the question with more seriousness than Crowley intended with his light teasing, chewing and swallowing.

“Well, what the Almighty doesn’t know won’t hurt Her, right? It’s not like I haven’t gone behind Her back before.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows in surprise, mouth agape and barely concealing a grin.

“That sounds awful when I say it like that,” Aziraphale quickly amended. “I just mean the whole business with giving my sword away and all. Did I ever tell you that She did actually ask me where it went?”

“And you responded with the truth, of course?”

“I lied…”

“You _lied_?”

“To Her face!”

Crowley couldn’t help but laugh at how his angel continued to surprise him even after centuries of acquaintanceship. “What, did you tell Her a wily old snake stole it from you?”

“I wouldn’t, Crowley!” Aziraphale looked offended. “No, I sort of, well, avoided the question, said I must have left it somewhere.” He read the amusement plastered on Crowley’s face and turned a bit red in the cheeks. That must have been left over from the excess wine they’d drunk at dinner earlier. “She seemed to let it go, and She hasn’t brought it up since. I assume She either doesn’t know or doesn’t care.”

“When it comes to Upstairs, I don’t think either is the case.” Crowley lowered his hand to curl his fingers around Aziraphale’s, encasing the remaining figs back in the cloth. “You have always been a bit of an unconventional angel, haven’t you?”

“How do you mean?” Aziraphale shifted on his feet. Crowley’s hand lingered where it was before he finally lowered it back to his own side.

“Helping humans, lying to your boss,” he nodded down to Aziraphale’s hand, “indulging in customs that aren’t your nature.”

“I have a natural curiosity.” Aziraphale fixed his nose up in the air.

“Evidently.”

“You can’t tell me you haven’t wondered at all up until that moment I gave you the apricot.”

“Wondered what exactly, angel?”

Aziraphale looked at him, batted his eyes once. “What it feels like to be human. To want to eat and drink and sleep and—”

“Oh, I quite thoroughly enjoy sleeping,” Crowley interrupted. “And drinking.”

“But there’s so much more to humans than drinking and sleeping.”

Crowley gave him a look.

“Honestly! They’re terribly creative creatures, and they’re smart when they want to be.” The angel turned off toward the side, gaze drifting away like he was daydreaming, a small smile on his lips. “They invented poems and stories and music that is leagues more fun to listen to than the chimes and chorus we’re all so tired of Upstairs. Music so lovely that they can’t help but dance to…”

“Dancing,” Crowley chuckled.

“I know it sounds silly, but to humans, it’s almost like a base instinct. The music takes rein over their physical and emotional faculties, and it comes bursting forth in the irresistible urge to move their bodies. They’re quite passionate about their urges.” A light laugh came from Aziraphale’s throat as he briefly looked back at Crowley.

“Do you think Odoacer dances?”

The angel scoffed at the image that was now in both of their heads. “Absolutely not. That brute channels his energy into satiating other kinds of urges, namely eating and killing and, well, you know.” He waved his hand dismissively, shoulders stiff.

“I don’t know,” Crowley asserted, immediately intrigued by what the angel was insinuating, if that was indeed where he was going. Pushing off the wardrobe, Crowley circled around Aziraphale until he was standing in front of him.

The angel’s eyes wandered over the room. “I’m surprised you haven’t noticed it. All the men and women sneaking in and out of his rooms when he lives just down the hall from you.”

Oh, Crowley had noticed, and he was quick to admit he didn’t know Aziraphale had made the same observations. “I thought it reeked of sin over there for a reason,” he hummed.

“Please, Crowley, you don’t know how distracting that sensation can be for someone like me.” Aziraphale huffed, wearing what looked like a pout. “It’s increasingly difficult to concentrate on getting him to join my side when he smells so distinctly of _ your _ side.”

“Should I apologize? It’s not my fault we get all the fun parts.” The grin on his lips was not going anywhere. “After all, it’s like you said. It’s what humans do. Sometimes they just can’t help it.”

“It makes one wonder…”

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the angel fidget with the edge of the fig cloth, now bunched up in his grasp. “Beg your pardon?”

Aziraphale caught the way Crowley was looking at him and rolled his eyes, undoubtedly reading into the amused expression on his face. When he huffed out another breath, the air smelled like ozone, the charge right before a thunderstorm. Heavens, Crowley hadn’t seen the angel that nervous in a long time.

“One can’t help but wonder,” _One _ meaning _Aziraphale_, Crowley read between the lines, “what it must feel like if humans are so keen on it and slip so easily into temptation. Sometimes I don’t believe any temptation at all is necessary for such… _acts_.”

Crowley processed the words and translated what they suggested, the mechanisms in his brain squeaking. Surely the angel wouldn’t be implying _that_, but as Crowley had come to learn, Aziraphale was full of surprises. He found the angel looking at him, as if he could offer some answer for his curiosity.

“Well, don’t look at me.” Crowley pressed a palm against his chest innocently. “Seduction really isn’t my department. It’s the succubi who like to get their hands, erm, sticky.”

He coughed once, and Aziraphale broke out in a short, ringing laugh. Some tension leaked away from both of them.

“Besides,” Crowley went on, “I’ve personally never—as you’d guess. I mean, I’ve only just started eating food a year ago. It’s not like I ever fell into curiosity with other human desires.”

“That’s my point!” Aziraphale clutched onto Crowley’s forearm desperately, like they were getting to the bottom of a mystery. “Think of the food and how much we love it. Humans eat food, and we think food is good. Same with sleeping and drinking, and so on. Then by that logic, if humans participate in other performances of physical indulgence, wouldn’t it make sense that we would enjoy that too?”

“So you want to try sex, is that what you’re saying?” Putting it in plain words seemed to legitimize the conversation that Crowley never in millenia thought he’d be having with Aziraphale. “Then, angel, why don’t you?”

“Because I’m an angel! We’re meant to be pure and holy and entirely untouchable.”

“Alright, then don’t.”

“But I can’t get the thought out of my head. I’m, for lack of a better term, dying to know what it’s like. You see my dilemma here?”

Crowley cocked his head to the side. “You ought to be careful. Curiosity killed the angel.” He spoke from experience, but he was done being bitter about it.

Aziraphale sighed, giving Crowley one last look with those big, woeful sapphires. “I suppose you’re right. It’s probably best if I don’t. Forgive me, I just—well, I thought you might have been able to help. But it’s alright.”

“I told you, it’s not like I know anything about it—” He couldn’t mean, not like that, at least, could he? “You wanted me to _help you_, help you?”

The angel’s expression took a turn toward bashful as he nodded. A tiny smile fought to creep up on his lips. “You’re the only one I’d trust, you know. Humans would simply be too—”

“Alright.”

Aziraphale’s gaze snapped back up to Crowley’s. “What?”

“Alright, I’ll help you.” His tongue rolled over the word _help_, adding sinful insinuation around every letter. He raised a suggestive eyebrow at the angel, who lit up like a cannon flare in excitement, seemingly forgetting how shy he just was about the whole subject.

“Really?” Aziraphale touched a light hand to Crowley’s chest, leaning closer eagerly. “That didn’t take much to convince you.”

“I figure I could tell head office I tempted an angel. They’d probably lay off me for a few decades at least, maybe even approve an extended holiday.” It wasn’t a lie, because it was true. Seducing a divine creature would count for something indeed. But that wasn’t the only—or even the main—reason Crowley said yes.

Obviously not, because Crowley was a demon, because Crowley didn’t care even an inch about committing sin. Because it was something Aziraphale wanted, and Crowley found himself bending toward what Aziraphale wanted. Because Aziraphale wanted Crowley specifically for the task. Because maybe, possibly, it wouldn’t have been too absurd to think that he harbored something akin to affection for the angel. But don’t tell anyone Downstairs that Crowley, demon of Hell, had a soft spot for an equally soft angel.

“Of course, if that makes it easier for you.” Aziraphale’s fingers clutched around the front of Crowley’s tunic. He was standing on his toes, close to Crowley’s face in impatient anticipation. “Can we do it tonight?”

Crowley’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling in an exaggerated show of thinking it over. His tongue popped once when he opened his mouth to speak. “I think I should be able to pencil you in this evening,” he drawled with just the right amount of aloofness.

But then the angel’s excitement flickered—perhaps he’d been hoping for a more enthusiastic yes—and Crowley immediately softened up to him.

“Angel, you don’t have to ask. Not me, not ever,” Crowley assured in a tender voice, all hints of ruse evaporated. He trailed the backs of his knuckles down Aziraphale’s velvety cheek.

“Well,” Aziraphale breathed, his eyes fluttering away again, “it is my understanding that asking permission first is the most important step before two beings—”

Crowley moved them both before the angel could anull Crowley’s romantic and passionate confession, thank you very much. No, instead of listening to any more talk, Crowley held Aziraphale by the shoulders and turned, pressing Aziraphale to the door of the wardrobe and circling in front of him like a snake.

He savored the gasp it pulled from the angel’s throat, flicked his tongue out to taste the subtle sizzle in the air between them, before closing the gap and sealing their lips together. The angel quickly melted against him, and Crowley wasn’t far behind him. He angled his body into Aziraphale’s to keep them both standing. The warmth radiating off the angel was intoxicating, but not nearly so as much as the plush press of his mouth against Crowley’s.

His fingers still gripping the front of Crowley’s tunic, it was Aziraphale who moved first after that. He turned his head and hummed, quite similar to how he nearly sings in the back of his throat when he tries something particularly tasty. Crowley followed his lead, parted his lips, and oh, increasing the friction of their skin by moving his lips only increased the pleasure sparking against his very human nerve endings. At least, that was what he imagined Aziraphale would say if his mouth was free to do some explaining. _This is why the humans like it so much_ , Crowley could hear him say. Though he didn’t care much for the _why _ it felt good, he just knew it when he felt it, and he has a sneaking suspicion that it was thanks in great part to it being a special angel he held in his arms.

He went on instinct, a slave to what the human part of his corporeal form dictated felt right. Sliding his tongue against Aziraphale’s got him a resounding _yes, more of that_. He quickly learned that doing even more slowly allowed him to taste the inside of the angel’s mouth in full. The gentle moan of approval from Aziraphale’s throat sounded like it was inside his own skull. His hands got in on the action, if it wasn’t too crude an illustration. Crowley dragged his fingers down Aziraphale’s arms, then on the trek back up, he drew them closer to the center and pressed his palms into Aziraphale’s sides and chest.

The angel reciprocated the touches. He shifted between Crowley and the hard door or the wardrobe, moving to get his hands in Crowley’s hair. The wiggling added another layer to their slow kissing. Crowley was suddenly very aware of how much he liked feeling the angel’s legs brushing against his own. So, following base nature again, he tipped one thigh forward between Aziraphale’s legs, which parted like warm butter for him and _oh, Satan and Lucifer_, humans were so clever.

They didn’t need air, but when Aziraphale broke their kiss first, he was gasping for it. His head tipped back against the wood, and he blinked hazy eyes up at Crowley.

“This is already…”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Crowley said, voice roughened, and he was going back in for more, though with a different target this time. He pressed his parted lips to Aziraphale’s jaw, then made his way down his neck. The angel lifted his head to give Crowley more room, and they were fitting so perfectly together.

Crowley couldn’t get very far, not with the high collar Aziraphale wore with his priest robes. He could think about how amusing that juxtaposition was at a later time. Now, he was too frustrated with the clothing in his way to appreciate it properly.

“Clothes off,” he grumbled into Aziraphale’s throat. “Now.”

“Crowley, I…” the angel’s voice trailed off, fingers twisting even more into Crowley’s hair.

“Nervous about me seeing you?” Crowley pushed his hands under the first layer of Aziraphale’s robes. If he wasn’t going to miracle away the barriers, Crowley was more than willing to do it manually. “What have you got in there, anyway? Male bits? Me too.” Holding the angel by the hips, Crowley rolled forward and confirmed that, yes, they were indeed matching down there. Even through their layers, the hard press of them meeting in the middle was hot and promising.

Aziraphale swallowed down a moan and nodded. “It’s just that, they would get suspicious if I use a miracle frivolously. And they’d have my head if they found me here with you.”

“Oh, Aziraphale,” Crowley tenored. He pulled back just enough to look the angel in the eyes. “I won’t let them anywhere near you.”

And with that, he dragged Aziraphale toward the bed and reached around him, tearing the thick fabric of the angel’s robes from back to front.

“Crowley!”

“I’ll fix them later.”

He guided Aziraphale down onto the plush, luxurious bed cover. The down blanket swelled up to cradle Aziraphale’s—now bare—body like a cloud. Crowley quite loved the contrast of the angel’s pale, porcelain skin against the dark navy of his bed dressings, and he admired the sight for as long as he could stand without touching. All it took was a snap of his fingers, and Crowley’s own tunic and trousers fell away from him. A moment later, he was draping himself over the angel and fitting their bodies together.

Aziraphale’s fingers traced up Crowley’s sides, which felt leagues more intimate and stimulating than he ever considered. “You’ve chosen quite a specimen for yourself,” Aziraphale breathed, eyes shamelessly dragging up and down Crowley’s frame. His legs did that delicious thing again, the one where his knees parted like water in acceptance of Crowley’s presence.

Crowley looked down where they were joined together. The sight of Aziraphale’s thighs cradling his hips, warm and snug, was a divine one if there ever was such a thing. How opposite it was so the scandalous way their cocks pressed together, swollen and aching. Crowley rolled his hips forward just to see what it would look like when they moved against each other, but he wasn’t prepared for the burst of pleasure that surged from the contact.

“As have you, angel,” he nearly moaned.

Lowering his head, Crowley mouthed along Aziraphale’s newly exposed collar and shoulder to keep himself quiet. His hand pushed its way between them, where he was delighted to find hot, sweaty skin and an equally hot cock curved up against the angel’s stomach. The moment his fingers wrapped around it, Aziraphale sang. Head tilted back—and eyes closed tightly, no doubt—Aziraphale moaned and arched into Crowley’s fist.

“Oh, that’s…” the angel panted. “Oh, that’s—!”

Crowley barely held himself up with his free hand, nails digging into the duvet right next to Aziraphale’s head. The reactions the angel was giving him sent him into a different state of mind. His only motivation was to give Aziraphale the experience of a millennia, something that he would never forget. If it was already feeling so good, Crowley was determined to up the stakes with each passing second.

“Tell me,” Crowley breathed, gruff.

The angel reached around to trap Crowley against him, riding against his hand as Crowley slowly dragged it up and down. His eyes were still closed when he began talking, but Crowley watched his face the entire time.

“It’s so good,” the angel explained. “Better than good. Overwhelming, even.”

“Want me to stop?”

“Never.” With his arms hooked behind Crowley’s neck, Aziraphale pulled him in for a kiss.

Crowley happily obliged, humming and letting Aziraphale greedily lick into his mouth. His hand still continued to work, but he varied his movements to experiment. Running his thumb over the tip, he found, earned him more moisture dripping from the slit and very pleased noises coming from his angel.

“What is it you want?” Crowley urged.

“More,” Aziraphale articulated. “Closer.”

“Greed is a deadly sin, you know,” he murmured back against the angel’s lips.

Aziraphale only tipped his head to the side, a grin gracing his mouth. His fingers curled into the long hair at the base of Crowley’s skull, ticking his scalp and setting his senses ablaze. “So is lust, you infernal creature.”

Crowley didn’t stand a chance after that. What else could he do but kiss that filthy mouth of his angel’s? What other purpose did his existence serve than to be enslaved by his (in)human instincts and chase the pleasures of flesh? Sin always felt wrong—it always gave Crowley a rush when he was sinning because it was precisely what he wasn’t supposed to do, if you asked anyone who wasn’t a demon. But how could something so wrong feel so right? In fact, the only _wrong _ he could have done was make the angel wait a second longer. No, that would be the greatest error of his existence.

Separating himself from Aziraphale’s face, Crowley looked down to where his hand was still wrapped around his pink and reddening cock. The fluid that had been leaking from Aziraphale collected between his fingers, slicking them up and making the glide much smoother. Regretfully, he had to let go, but it was only to trail his hand further down, down between their perspiring bodies to the opening between Aziraphale’s legs. Not that they needed parts like that, but when in Rome.

Tingling, Crowley prodded at the entrance with two slippery fingers and watched Aziraphale’s jaw loosened, as if the two places were connected. Loving the reaction, Crowley changed the angle and flexed his wrist to slowly push one of his fingers inside, savoring the tug and the heat from within.

The angel gasped. “Good Lord…!”

“Don’t bring Her into it,” Crowley drawled, all too proud of himself. “How is it?”

“I…” Aziraphale swallowed around his panting breaths. “I don’t even know how to describe it. It’s so strange, yet this body seems to be craving it all the more. Oh, please do something about it, Crowley. It’s divine…”

“Allow me, then.”

The first drag of his finger was heinous. Crowley groaned at the sensation, and that was just in his finger, a digit that was used to stimulation and damn near numb to it. He couldn’t afford to think about what would come next, not if he wanted to keep his head on his shoulders. So instead he focused on the reactions he could pull from the angel, first with slow motions, then deeper and more meaningful thrusts of his hand. Curiosity won over him quickly, and soon he added a second finger alongside the first.

Aziraphale’s hands traveled out of Crowley’s hair, only to renew their desperate grip on his shoulders. Holding Crowley in place, Aziraphale started rocking his hips with gentle but jerky movements. A rhythm was hardly established, Aziraphale blind to instinct as much as Crowley was, but however he managed to move his body so languidly, it was working wonders for him. His voice was melodious as it was iniquitous, calling Crowley’s name and begging for things that would make even a demon blush.

And blush, he did.

Crowley hovered above the angel, watching raptly, completely transfixed by Aziraphale’s parted lips and fluttering lashes. His eyes didn’t close anymore. Instead his gaze floated at some point above him, as if he was seeing the light of heaven or something much more beautiful.

“Crowley, you must…” Aziraphale gasped.

“Yes, love?” Anything for Aziraphale. Anything at all.

“You must feel this for yourself,” the angel managed in a wrecked voice. “Please, I cannot stand just this any longer. I want all of you. Inside me.” His nails dug into Crowley’s shoulders, driving the point home as if his intent could in any way be lost on him. “Now.”

Crowley nodded. Yes, indeed, that was the next step. He most certainly wasn’t too absorbed in the thrust of his fingers into Aziraphale’s waiting body that he forgot there could be more. His limbs seemed to buzz when he stopped the motion of his arm and shifted his position. Crowley wrapped a hand around himself, and the sudden attention made his knees weaken. He sunk further into the bed, leaning dangerously close to Aziraphale with his head hanging low. One stroke, and his cock was miraculously slick enough to make the passage more bearable for both of them.

“Right, you don’t have to mind me so much,” Aziraphale said, a little more himself now that the overbearing stimulation had paused. He wriggled underneath Crowley, legs falling open just slightly more.

Crowley pulled his eyes away from his distraction long enough to give Aziraphale a look. “Of course I’m going to mind you. This is half for you.”

The angel gave him a warm smile. “How kind of you—”

“Shut it.”

Crowley braced one of his hands on Aziraphale’s thigh, giving it a squeeze for good measure, as he aligned and began the slow press inside. The pleasure concentrated to such a small part of his human body made him see the heavens. Mouth agape, Crowley groaned the rest of the way in, not stopping until he was seated against the angel’s thighs.

“My dear, your eyes.” The angel cupped Crowley’s face with both hands, drawing him in closer. Impossible, it seemed, because how much closer could they get, really? Wonder and delight were written all over Aziraphale’s flushed face. “It must feel so good for you, if you’re looking like that.”

Crowley quickly averted his gaze, trying to blink the heavy yellow slits out of his eyes. He could never help how that part of his body reacted to things. His eyes always betrayed the aloof exterior he so adamantly tried to maintain. That was why he started wearing the wonderful human invention of darkened focal lenses, like a shield for his emotions. The only being who got to see him without the glasses was Aziraphale. He seemed to like them, subverting Crowley’s expectations yet again.

“Of course it feels good. Why else would humans insist on doing it every hour of every day,” he grumbled.

Instead of allowing Aziraphale to look at the pleasure dripping from his expression any longer, Crowley kissed him again. Kissing was quite nice. So versatile. When they had first kissed, it was sweet. But now, coupled together, kissing was hot and desperate. Crowley used the angel’s lips to smother his own sounds because, as instinct would have it again, he had begun to move his hips at a tempo that drew the most delicious sensation out of his core. Kissing dissolved Crowley panting into Aziraphale’s mouth with the occasional, irresistible dip of his tongue.

“Oh,” the angel chimed. “_Oh_.”

Fingers clutched at his back, curving to dig blunt nails into his skin. Crowley rolled into Aziraphale, into those hands.

From what started as feeling the pull and heat of Aziraphale’s body around his cock, the pleasure began to seep into the rest of Crowley’s corporeal form. He was feeling Aziraphale, not just at that concentrated spot between his hips, but also in his fingers and toes, in his throat, his chest, his lungs, his lips and tongue, the reddened tips of his ears, and his heart. The sensation washed over him with every wave of his body driving him deeper into the angel. And by the sound of it, Aziraphale felt it too.

By Hades, Crowley never felt so human.

They both panted for air, and it wasn’t for show. Despite his lack of breath, Aziraphale nudged Crowley’s cheek with his nose for a kiss. Crowley obliged, sealing their lips together and swallowing the angel’s moans, now more frequent and desperate. Crowley could hear a crescendo roaring in his ears, radiating out from his core. He was approaching what the humans seemed to live for, the climax that promised insurmountable pleasure and the potential for offspring. There was no chance of the latter, but the former was within his reach.

He broke the kiss to groan. “Angel, I’m…”

“As am I,” Aziraphale confirmed weakly, breathily. “I want to feel for myself what all the fuss is about.”

Crowley smirked through his physical exertions, forehead pressed to Aziraphale’s. “Shall we?”

“Please, Crowley.”

Those two words delivered the final blow, for lack of a better phrase. If the angel was begging for it, Crowley was powerless to deny him. He made an absolutely debauched and involuntary sound, eyes squeezing shut for the first time since they began. His hips stuttered to a halt when everything they’d been working toward reached its peak. Like a dam being broken, Crowley’s pleasure spilled from him and into Aziraphale’s hot, welcoming body.

The angel spasmed around him, seemingly to take everything Crowley offered. Aziraphale made another weak call of Crowley’s name, head thrown back onto the bed, arms clinging tightly to him.

When the last of the waved ebbed, Crowley pushed himself up and found a mess between their bodies. A possessive, proud part of him took massive satisfaction from the sight. Aziraphale looked positively ruined.

Crowley pulled out, more sensitive than ever. He made a face and reclined next to the angel on the plush but sweat—and otherwise—stained blanket. The muscles of his arms and thighs quivered from overuse. Just as well. If he wanted to be human enough for sex, he would have to accept the other ramifications his body would face afterward. It was a good kind of sore, though. He’d gladly do it again. Multiple times, if the angel would indulge him.

The angel in question seemed distracted by the fluid collected on his stomach. He ran his fingers through it and hummed pleasantly.

“Need me to miracle us clean?” Crowley offered.

“I kind of like it,” Aziraphale dismissed. “Evidence that we can be human if we want.”

Crowley was struck by the urge to tell Aziraphale to stay for the night. His bed was more than big enough for both of them. Actually, he was quite overwhelmed with the desire to reach out and hold the angel, keep him close all night and through the morning. But, one step at a time, he figured. So he just grunted in response.

“I suppose we could go take a bath to clean up, to keep feeling human a little longer.” Aziraphale turned his head to look at Crowley. His cheeks still bore the last traces of blush. His eyes sparkled. “And don’t forget, you promised you would fix my robes. I can’t very well conduct confession tomorrow if they still have a huge rip in them. You beast.”

Crowley huffed out a laugh. “Of course you can.”

They got out of bed and pulled their clothes back on—Aziraphale salvaging what he could of his priest robes. They probably wouldn’t run into anybody on their journey to the baths at that hour, anyway.

Before they left the room, Aziraphale looked at Crowley and paused. Reaching up, he gently fixed part of his hair that had gotten tangled during that little tryst. Evident by the look on Aziraphale’s face, he was remembering just what exactly they had done together, and he smiled softly.

“To think this started because you forced me to eat a peach,” Crowley hummed.

“It was an apricot,” Aziraphale was quick to correct. “And I didn’t force you. You said it was delicious.”

“It wasn’t bad for a first taste of food,” Crowley conceded. “Do you remember your first?”

The angel’s hand floated back down to his size, and his gaze flitted away in a sudden show of bashfulness. Crowley wanted to tell him he was a bit late to feel embarrassed, given what they’d just done together.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said carefully. “It was the apple.”

“An apple?”

“_The _ apple, Crowley.” Aziraphale looked at him intently.

Crowley couldn’t help his jaw dropping. His eyebrows went up in surprise, as did the corners of his lips. Aziraphale looked like he wanted to fold in on himself.

“You didn’t!”

“I was curious!”

“To see what all the fuss was about?” Crowley echoed Azirapahle’s words from the bed.

“Maybe it’s like you said, and this curiosity will be my downfall one day,” Aziraphale sighed.

Crowley laughed and shook his head. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it, angel. If it’s any comfort, it’s not all that bad down here.”

Aziraphale’s warm smile returned. “If that does end up my fate, at least I know I have you to catch me.”

Crowley didn’t know if demons were allowed to love, but maybe that was the human part of him causing him to see the moon and the stars when he looked at the angel.

**Author's Note:**

> This was just supposed to be smut, idk what all that mess in the beginning is.
> 
> Thanks for stopping by!


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